Different
by Imitating Licentiousness
Summary: Oneshot sequel to The Linger. It's the next day. Maybe, just maybe, House invited Cameron in. Please R & R.


Alright, this is a sequel to 'The Linger'. Hope you enjoy. Please review. I still don't own anything, by the way.

* * *

Things _could_ be different.

She sat up straight, elbows poised neatly on the table while she held the mug of warm coffee that _he_ had made in her hands, staring at him as he squeaked the dry-erase markers across the board, the latest patient's symptoms.

House paused to turn around and look at his ducklings. Cameron took a sip of the mug in her hands, letting out a quiet yelp as she scalded the taste buds at the front of her mouth.

"Coffee's _hot_, you know," House reminded her.

She glared at him, trying to hide her amusement as she dug an ice cube out of the mini-fridge and placed it tenderly on her tongue.

"All right, little ones, so what's the diagnosis?" House capped the marker with a vivacious _pop_.

Cameron sat back down to let Chase and Foreman toss out a few possibilities while she nursed her burnt tongue.

* * *

_Things _could_ be different. _That's what she'd been thinking on the drive to House's from the hospital last night. House wasn't one for small talk, but he'd made a few comments on her eclectic tastes in music when he flipped through her CD case.

"I had no idea you were a Nine Inch Nails fan. You don't seem the type at all," he'd remarked. "Although it would be an absolute delight if you dressed like one. Those gothic corsets, the fishnet stockings, the knee-high boots…I'm sure you could pull it off."

She'd blushed, but given him a smile that let him know she was laughing inside. "What, you don't get enough of the fishnets from your hookers?"

House gave her a look of feigned shock. "They're not _hookers_. They're _ladies _of the_ night_."

She laughed out loud.

"Queen. At least you have some of the good stuff. Led Zeppelin, The Eagles, Sweet…" He mumbled the names as he flipped through the CDs before plucking one out and sticking it in the CD player, thumbing through the tracks before selecting one. Yellow Ledbetter.

"Left here?" Cameron asked, double checking. She'd only been to his home once or twice before, and her sense of direction wasn't stellar.

"Left," House agreed, mouthing the words to the song under his breath.

Altogether, it was too short of a ride to his apartment. Not enough time for deep conversations, not enough mood to bring up anything personal. Just two…colleagues, one hitching a ride, the other thinking about all that could be said in the spaces between the notes drifting into the open air.

* * *

"Cameron?"

She jerked her head, not realizing that her brain had wandered off. "Yes?"

"Are you with us, or do I need to go get my special walky-talky that reaches La-La-Land?" House, Foreman, and Chase looked at her expectantly.

Cameron did a quick scan over the symptoms, her mind buzzing. No sweating, skin lesions, red spots, dehydration, schizophrenia. What was it? The skin lesions and dehydration could be Tay-Sach's disease, but that didn't leave room for the schizophrenia. No…it was something that began with an F. Fanconi's syndrome? Close, but no…Fabri's disease. Yes. "Fabri's disease."

House nodded. "Hop to it."

* * *

"Things could be different," Cameron said out loud later as she studied a cell slide beneath the microscope.

"Hunh?" Chase looked up from his lupus test.

She reddened, jerking her head back to the eyepiece. "Nothing."

"Mm." Chase went back to his microscope.

* * *

Cameron pulled her car in next to House's front stoop. "Here you go."

"Thanks." He gathered his backpack and cane from the floorboard, then reached for the door handle.

Cameron sighed inwardly. Another moment, the precious few she got to enjoy of being alone with him, completely wasted. She was about to be alone again in the car, listening to music he picked out, an empty space in the passenger seat that barely had enough time to get warm.

His fingers wrapped around it the door handle. Paused. She tried to squash the slight bit of hope springing its way up somewhere deep in her chest.

"Hey, um…you want to come inside? It's, uh, late. You could probably use some coffee to keep you awake on the drive home."

* * *

"A and A is negative for lupus," Chase interrupted her little dream train.

"What?"

"What is with you today? You just seem…out of it," Chase said.

"Nothing," Cameron answered. "Allergy medicine. Benedryl, you know, it makes me kind of loopy."

"Kind of loopy about House?" Foreman asked, the slightest hint of a grin on his lower lip. "I thought that ship had sailed."

"It did," Cameron muttered, looking back at her microscope. "And it _is_ Fabri's, by the way."

* * *

Cameron felt somewhat akin to a child who is not supposed to be snooping around in his or her parent's bedroom as she stood in the middle of House's living room, looking around at his framed pictures, letting one finger fall on an ivory key on the piano.

_Plunk_, the key said in the note of middle C.

"Do you play?" House called from the kitchen. She could hear the faint clinking of spoons stirring coffee in ceramic.

"No. I took lessons when I was little, but it wasn't really my thing. I was more interested in spinning around on the piano bench."

He chuckled as he limped into the living room, handing her a white mug with _World's Greatest Sex God_ printed in black block lettering. "I was that way at first, too. Tried it again when I was a little older, I picked it up okay."

She lifted the mug in cheers. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well…gift from Wilson, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. "Something I should know about you two?"

House laughed. "Sit down, stay awhile." He plopped down on the couch, carefully lifting his leg to rest it on the coffee table.

Cameron sat carefully next to him, leaving a foot of space between herself and him as he looked for the remote, stuffed his hand into the couch cushion, and yanked it back out, triumphant. "Aha." The TV clicked on, but instead of turning it up, he left it at a dull hum.

"How's your leg?" Cameron asked.

"Enh. Vicodin's starting to work."

She blew on her coffee, then sipped. To her surprise, his coffee was just as bit—if not slightly better—than hers. "Mm."

"What?"

"Nothing." She held the mug up. "Good coffee."

He shrugged. "It's a good blend. Lots of chocolate. Wilson got it from Germany or Brazil or Belgium or somewhere."

"So if you can make such good coffee, why do insist on always drinking mine?"

He let his left hand drop onto his leg, hesitating for a moment before turning to her. "Because you make it."

"Oh, well, thanks…if I'd known that, I wouldn't have gotten my ass up early out of bed every morning to fix it, someone else could've--"

"No, not because 'you make it', not because it's just there. Because _you_ make it."

She almost dropped the mug into her lap, but managed to save her hands, not her mouth. Her jaw dropped open, staring at him as though he'd just turned into a leprechaun and danced an Irish jig in front of her. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. "_What?_"

"I drink the coffee because _you_ make it."

"No, I mean, I understood that part--"

"Look," he said, suddenly standing, leaning against his cane, knuckles white. "I'm not…_good_ at this sort of thing. I'm used to being gruff. I'm an asshole and everyone knows it. And then you show up, with all your…nice-ness, and I just--"

She was still staring at him in awe.

"I'll hurt you. I won't mean to, but I will. And this could get in the way of--" He looked down, running a hand through his hair.

She shook her head. "Don't you think I should have the right to give it a try? Don't you think you deserve to have a chance to let it work itself out? Maybe you won't hurt me. Maybe you will." She stood, set her coffee mug down. "But—_this_—us—deserves a try." She was standing close to him now. "Look at me," she barely whispered.

His eyes met hers; her breath caught as he snaked an arm around her waist, palm pressing flat between her shoulder blades, pulling her to him sharply. She closed her eyes, and his lips were against her, soft, warm, sweet. His other hand trailed down her soft, sleek curls, sliding down to the small of her back, pulling her even closer. His whiskers scratched her slightly, but in a good way as their mouths fed at each other, lips meeting again and again.

* * *

Things _could_ be different, Cameron was thinking again at the end of the day as she was signing off the paperwork for the Fabri's patient. Chase and Foreman were gone, as usual—off to the bar for Happy Hour or wherever they usually went. House was in a meeting with Cuddy and Wilson for harassing the patient's mother on her medical history, something about not noticing that her child had a severe stigmatism which led to progression of the Fabri's. But the good news was that the kid was going to be just fine.

She was so engrossed in her work that she hardly noticed when the shades were drawn and the room grew dimmer, barely felt the gentle pressure on her neck of careful fingers rubbing out the knots, but most _certainly_ noticed the bristly yet soft whiskers and wet heat pressing a kiss just below her left ear.

Cameron smiled a secretive smile. There was no "could be" about it.

Things _were_ different.


End file.
